No more games

“Children shouldn’t play with guns.”

“Who said I was playing?”

He paused then, actually looking at me. His eyes raked over my body, looking for recognition. His eyes lingered on my cheek, undoubtedly examining the scar, although I doubted it would help. As it turned out, some of the thugs that work for the ministry like leaving their mark on their victims. A calling card of sorts. The cut on my face was similar to one that had been left on no less than twenty other teens. I was sure there were others, I just hadn’t met them yet. Standing before me was a man. Someone I would never forget. He was the one who had ripped me from my bed. Had thrown me into shackles, then squeezed them tight enough to wring blood from my wrists. He stood before me and clearly did not remember me. Why would he? I was just one of the many he had tortured. Nothing special about little Celia Jäger. At least there hadn’t been.